His Daughter's Hand
by Jackie-Boy222
Summary: UPDATE. By unanimous vote, by me, this story is continued. Drew and Chuckie have an evening out.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Rugrats. Tough Shit; suck it up Jackie-Boy.

All right, a one shot. A Chuckie/Angelica one shot with surprisingly little Angelica. This one, despite my best efforts, is kinda serious. Very heavy, came out much more, peculiar maybe, than intended. Needed to mix it up a little bit. Stuck on Chuckie/Angelica for some reason, I'm not sure why. Oh yeah; they're cuter than hell.

P.S: Mac won't let me update my Profile, so head to myspace dot com, slash jackie underscore boy222 for a good profile.

His Daughter's Hand

Drew Pickles was nervous. Chuckie had called the other day, wishing to "seek an audience" with Drew and Charlotte. And Drew was freaking out. See, Angelica had gotten her own apartment a year or so ago, and since then he had begun to miss her, even though they always had coffee together every day, and dinner together every Friday. So even though she was never home, they still had fairly decent knowledge of their daughter's private life. Drew also knew that his daughter had continued to see Chuck Finster socially. The seriousness of their relationship was never really made clear to Drew, but his daughter always talked about "Finster," and whatever the context of the conversation, she usually said good things. And now he was coming for dinner. No Angelica, he thought, just Charlotte, he, and me. Drew wanted a drink, but successfully fought this urge. He wasn't an Alcoholic, but right now he was extraordinarily close.

Charlotte was setting the table while Drew stared blankly at the television; more specifically, "The Dirty Dozen." Lee Marvin and Charles Bronson had just entered the enemy château. Drew usually helped with dinner, so Charlotte was letting this one slide. He would never tell her so, but she knew he was bothered by tonight. Chuckie had wanted to come by to talk, or "seek an audience," as he had put it, but Charlotte had suggested he come for dinner. Truth be told, Charlotte was nervous too. Sure, they all had coffee together every afternoon for countless years, but never in an intimate-type setting. On the phone, when no one else could hear, Angelica could never quite go an entire conversation without mentioning something sweet "Finster" had done for her. Like flowers for no reason whatsoever. Or a surprise lunch when she was trapped at work. In fact, Charlotte thought to herself, her little girl had grown up; and though he was no Charles Bronson, Charles Finster was a pretty good pick.

Drew however, was not as mellow as his wife. He had always liked Chuckie. He was there twenty-four years ago when the man was born. Man. Chuckie was a man.

Drew had never had any male heirs of his own, so he always slightly envied his friends. On Father's day, all his friends would get that one card from their boys, full of baseball talk and fishing. Drew loved his daughter more than words could ever illustrate. But he didn't have a son.

So he would often observe them, and think. He often thought that if he had a son, he would want that son to be like Chuckie. Sure, he liked all the kids, But Tommy was a trifle headstrong, Phil was rowdy and messy, and Dil, well; Dil was just fuckin' weird. But Chuckie Finster was none of that. The young Finster held all those qualities Drew liked about people. Chuckie was honest, kind, and, probably the most un-full-of-shit person on Earth. He was just a naturally good individual. He would never lie, he always did what he was asked, and though he perpetually saw the "Touch of Gray" in every silver lining, he never let his pessimism make him miserable. The only time Chuckie ever did something un-Chuckie like is when he was under the guidance of Tommy or Angelica.

In fact, Chuckie had always done every single foolish thing Angelica had asked him, and he held not an ounce of bitterness. For twenty-four years Chuckie Finster had done every stupid and dangerous thing Angelica asked him. Was Chuckie as blind as Charlie Brown, constantly trying to kick the football? Did he really think, for all these years, Angelica had is best interest at heart? Or did he always do those foolhardy things simply because he loved Angelica? Then an awful thought hit him. Chuckie wanted to break up with Angelica. That was the only possible explanation available. Chuckie was through with the constant abuse and he wanted out. Could Drew blame him? He looked at his wife who was finishing off the pasta. Could he blame Finster? Not really. Angelica was, High Maintenance, for lack of something better, as was Charlotte. And it required the utmost fortitude to deal with the constant yelling. The benefits _are_ great, but it's a hard job.

Then it hit him. If Chuckie leaves, there _will_ be no dealing with Angelica. Chuckie always kept her mellow. She could be a witch, but he made her a happy witch. And if the Cowardly Lion Kept the Wicked Witch happy, who was Drew to argue. When the two of them were in the same room together, you could feel the positive energy their love created in each other. When the two of them were together she was so radiant, she could just about glow-in-the-damn-dark. He made her a better person. If he dumped her, the fallout would last for months. God he wanted that drink. The craving for liquor was starting to remind him of "The Shining," and Drew was ready to go visit Lloyd.

His watch read 7:28 when the knock on the door came to his attention. Two minutes early. That was Chuckie defined, Drew thought as he rose to get the door. Drew opened the door.

Chuckie stood in the doorframe looking at his feet. Drew never really noticed what an adult Chuckie had become. He was quite tall, and though he was not as thin as he had been, he still could stand to gain a couple of pounds, which seemed to fit. Chuckie was currently working at a very aristocratic-type architect firm, and most architects Drew had met were either sickly thin or slightly overweight. He had on a gray suite with a blue shirt and a silver and black striped silk tie. Chuckie's face had the slightest overcast of stubble about it, his glasses, a tortoise-shell brown, framed his large eyes. His eyes; the picture of absolute terror.

"Hello Chuckie, dinner will be ready in a few moments." Drew politely greeted his guest, doing all his best to cover the pure fear in his voice. Drew showed Chuckie into the living room. "The Dirty Dozen" was over, and the opening credits of "A Fistful Of Dollars" were rolling on screen. Drew really wanted to keep the television on, for two reasons. One, he _loved_ this movie, and two, with Clint Eastwood blowing people away, there was no need to talk to Finster.

But the silence, it was starting to get to him. He was really starting to get nervous.

"Ya'know Chuckie, this is the movie that saved westerns. American audiences were tired of the 'good guy in a white hat saves town' plot they had seen a million times. An Italian named Sergio Leone decided to remake a Japanese samurai film, "Yojimbo," into a western. The excess violence and callousness of the 'good guy' really grabbed Americans."

Chuckie had found this comment interesting. Not only did he learn something interesting about a movie, but it also brought to Chuckie's attention just how nervous Drew really was.

Whenever Drew and Chuckie met, they would ask of how each other's had been, then how each other's family was doing, and any remaining conversation time could be spent catch up on bullshit. The comment Drew made was perfect in the fact that any further conversation possible could only continue in the direction of bullshit, and Chuckie and Drew could both avoid discussing any personal information. Which meant he did not want to divulge how he was, and he did not wish to know how Chuckie was. Which meant Drew was either scared or angry, and Chuckie couldn't decide which would be worse.

Charlotte called the two men to dinner after about fifteen minutes of Clint. The dining room was a red number with a long oak table and some framed watercolors on the walls. The tablecloth was ivory in color, and the chandelier gave the room a warm feeling. Drew was seated at the head of the long table. Charlotte was to his right, our left, and Chuckie sat opposite, at Drew's left.Behind Charlotte, the liquor cabinet, a nice Stickly piece. In fact, all of Drew's Dining room furniture was Stickly, a status symbol, if you will. Above Drew, a reproduction print of T_he Starry Night_ by Van Gogh hung, more of the nice upper class status Drew worked so hard to uphold. The dinner, which was a glorious pasta with home made garlic bread, was eaten in relative silence; before, of course, Charlotte felt the need to break the ice.

"So Chuckie, what brings you here?" The tension in Charlotte's voice was slight, but noticeable.

"Well," Chuckie cleared his throat, "okay Chuckie; bite the bullet."

Drew and Charlotte sat upright, and both their minds were racing.

Charlotte mind was going all over the map; what was going on, what was up, the anxiety was killing her.

Drew's mind was more focused, but racing nonetheless. 'I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink…"

While Charlotte and the Little Engine that Needed Booze braced for whatever was to come next, they could see Chuckie was pouring sweat. This was not unusual, but the fact Angelica wasn't there for either group to deflect to made it slightly worse

"Mister and Misses Pickles, I love your Daughter very much. More than words can say. More than words could ever say. And I am so afraid of ever ruining what we have, but…"

"I want to ask for your daughters hand in marriage."

Drew and Charlotte sat stunned. Nobody said a word. It was eternity until Charlotte broke the silence.

"Really?"

Chuckie stared at Charlotte with a look of disbelief.

"I mean, you're so happy Chuckie. Why would you want to screw that up with marriage?" Charlotte had not meant for that to come out sounding like it did, but she was too confused to care.

"Mr. Pickles?" Chuckie looked at Drew with a nervous glance.

Drew had gone bye-bye.

It had been at least fifteen minutes since he had spoken a word, and ten since Chuckie had asked to marry his daughter. That urge to drink that he had been battling all day had finally won.

Chuckie and Charlotte were both startled when Drew jumped up. He walked over to the Liquor cabinet in the middle of the room, and stared through the glass.

…

…

"Hi Lloyd, a little slow tonight, huh?" Drew chuckled slightly to himself.

Charlotte was physically scared, and more so concerned for her husband's state of mind. She could of course relate, the sudden idea of their daughter being married was a huge shock to their systems. They had never spoken of the possibility that someone would actually _want_ to marry their daughter, and certainly if they had discussed it, they would never have guessed Chuckie. Apparently, he dug their daughter a lot more than they could have guessed. I mean, they had been dating since, was it middle school or high school? Damn, they had been dating a long time. Charlotte could not believe it had been this many years of the two of them together. Now that she reflected on this, marriage seemed oh so obvious. It then occurred to her Drew was still behind her, starring at the liquor cabinet.

If you were paying attention, you could hear Drew's mind slowly snap.

While Charlotte and Chuckie watched Drew nervously, Drew himself stood motionless for a while, then he erraticly cocked his head to the side. In his mind, he knew he did not have the key to the liquor cabinet, but he did not have time to get it, for that would take far too long. Think Drew.

He calmly took off his tie, which a deep green silk, and wrapped it around his right hand.

Chuckie yelped as the glass before him shattered. Drew let go of his tie and replaced his empty hand with his bottle of Wild Turkey Rare Breed. Mechanically, he went to the head of the table, stood at his spot and sat the bottle of bourbon at his place.

"Would you like a drink Chuckie?"

"No thank you sir, I'm-"

"Do you want a drink, Chuckie?" his voice had taken a stern, forceful-type cast.

"Yes sir, thank you."

Drew disappeared to the kitchen, leaving Charlotte and Chuckie alone. Charlotte needed to speak.

"So, uh, I guess congratulations are in order." Charlotte's confusion had quickly turned to a deadly powerful joy. Her daughter was going to marry the perfect man, a man Charlotte herself loved like a son, a man she knew would treat Angelica like the queen she is. Chuckie would always have Angelica's best interest at heart. It then occurred to Charlotte that Chuckie was trying to speak, and he was blushing.

"Well, I haven't asked her yet. I really-" Chuckie was cut off by Drew yelling.

"Chuckie, come and join me." Drew's tone sounded casual, and that worried Chuckie.

Chuckie stood and walked into the living room. Drew was seated on the sofa, upon the coffee table sat two drinks and a cedar box. "Alabama Song" by The Doors was playing on the fancy stereo system, itself another status symbol. Drew himself looked rather at ease, with the exception of the bloodstained gauze around his hand.

"Have a seat Chuckie. Let's talk."

Chuckie nervously sat at the opposite end of the sofa, unsure of what was going on. Drew reached for the cedar box and slowly opened it, pulling out two cigars. He pulled a cutter out of his pocked, snipped the end off of one, and handed it to Chuckie. He then snipped the end off the other and placed it in his mouth.

"This," Drew began, "is a Montecristo No. 2, and they are exceptionally fine cigars. Not the finest mind you, but fine, nonetheless." He removed the cigar from his mouth, examined the end to ensure its dampness, placed it back in his mouth, and pulled out a box of matches.

"So," he continued, pausing to strike his match, "you want to marry Angelica?" Drew slowly drew the smoke into his mouth, letting the flavors dance around his mouth. A few moments later he blew the smoke into the air, grabbed his bourbon and ice, and looked at Chuckie.

Chuckie nervously put the cigar in his mouth. Drew struck another match, waited for the sulfur to burn away and held it to Chuckie's cigar.

"Now, don't inhale, slowly take the smoke into your mouth, hold it in, then, blow the smoke out."

The many subtleties in the flavor were lost on Chuckie, and he would later describe it as "a very interesting sensation." He exhausted the smoke from his mouth, and took a sip of bourbon. The tobacco had effectively sat all his taste buds on edge, bringing out the flavors of the drink.

"Yes, I wish to marry your Daughter, and I just, you know, wanted your blessing."

Drew sat, thinking. He could just see it in his head, walking his daughter down the aisle, her in a glorious gown, the wedding, the reception, grandchildren…

…

_That_ is when the last card dropped.

If Chuckie and Angelica got married, they would eventually have, you know, _intercourse._

That little son of a bitch wanted to engage in sexual congress with his daughter!

Drew was about to throw his glass of Wild Turkey at that sniveling bastard when another, much more unsettling thought had entered his mind.

There was the very real possibility that they, his daughter and Finster, had already engaged in coitus. Had he and Charlotte waited till marriage, of course not! He was seeing blood now. This man next to him was noting more than a lustful evil little mendacious suckfish, stealing his little girl.

Then he looked at Chuckie. He was sitting quite nervously, looking at Drew. Drew remembered that look. That was the look he had given Charlotte's father when they themselves announced their engagement. Why had he been angry towards Chuckie, all Chuckie wanted to do was spend the rest of his life with someone who made him happy. Then Drew began thinking about all those little moments in marriage that made Charlotte and him so very happy. First home, first anniversary, warm conversations at breakfast, Chuckie and Angelica would have all that happiness, for many years to come.

And though it was none of his fuckin' business, he was fairly positive Chuckie was chaste, he was too timid to be anything but.

Drew took another long drag of his cigar, and "Sultans of Swing" came floating through the speakers. He looked over his glasses at Chuckie, so scared. He supposed he better say something. But Chuckie beat him to it.

"Mr. Pickles, are, are you okay?" Chuckie looked, worried of course. He was staring at Drew like he had something on his face. Come to think of it, Drew's face _did_ feel, odd, sore somehow, and his eyes hurt. Then it occurred to him. He was crying. Chuckie was watching him cry.

The last time Drew had cried was about a week after his father's funeral. Lou had died peacefully in his sleep, and he and Stu were going through some old boxes, sorting photos, that sort of thing. They had just finished packing away the last boxes when Drew just, just started crying. Stu, of course, then began sobbing, and the two of them had sat in front of their storage shed, crying and sobbing like infants. Then it had been business as usual, and they only talked of their father with joy. That was two years ago.

Now here Drew sat, looking at this man he had watched grow for so long, wishing him nothing but the best all these years, and he was crying.

He knew, of course, why he was crying. This was the single happiest moment of his life, and the saddest. His little girl would no longer be his little girl just; she'd be Mrs. Angelica Finster. And Drew took a slight comfort in that. He _would _treat her right.

"Chuckie," Drew cleared his throat, and Chuckie jumped up like a frog on a hotplate. "Frog on a hotplate," that was one of Lou's sayings, and Drew smiled at this. "Chuckie, if anyone wants to marry Angelica, I'm glad it's you."

"Really?" Chuckie was feeling fantastically better, though part of that may have been the bourbon.

"Yeah, Chuckie. I really don't think anyone else could really stand her." Drew began to chuckle slightly, letting Chuckie know it was safe.

They spent the rest of that evening discussing everything possible. Where the couple would live (Chuckie informed Drew that he had made a down payment on a house two houses down), Wedding Dates (Drew informed Chuckie not to try to pick, because between Charlotte, Angelica, and Kira; Chuckie would get little actual say in the planning. Which, Drew pointed out, was great, because this allowed you to be the comfort-type role to your fiancée), and Baseball (Milwaukee Brewers).

Charlotte joined them soon after, taking the farthest seat away, on Drew's side, to distance her from the cigar smoke. Charlotte then began to make up for lost time, saying anything even remotely related to marriage. As she went on, Drew looked at Chuckie, raised an eyebrow, and raised his glass to Chuckie, who returned the toast, creating a pleasing "clink."

Chuckie got up to leave at eleven-thirty two, thanked them for a wonderful evening, and proceeded to walk home. Drew and Charlotte walked into their empty home, walked to the living room, then sat down at the sofa, exhausted. Drew looked over to his bride.

"You okay, honey?"

"Drew; we're old, aren't we?"

"Yeah, I guess we are."

She looked over to him and sighed, "We had a good run though, didn't we?"

"The best."

…

She looked down at her watch. Then she smiled at her husband.

"So, what do you say we finish off that bourbon, go upstairs, and fool around?"

"There's no need to finish of the bourbon, you're so beautiful." He put on his best grin, the truthfulness in his voice warming her heart.

She smiled. "I know that, but you're so _old._" She began to laugh.

"Old huh," he leaned over to his wife and began tickling her. "I'll show you old."

She put her finger to his lips. "Go brush your teeth first, you reek of tobacco." She got up, and slowly sauntered upstairs.

Drew got up, turned off the radio, and walked upstairs. His thoughts were on Chuckie, how nervous he was, how excited he must be, and how Drew hoped everything would work out, as he knew it would. When he finished brushing, he put Chuckie out of mind, for the night anyway, and walked towards his room where_ his_ gorgeous wife was waiting.

---Wow, I don't know what you call that kind of story. Anywho, it's over and I can go back to my other story. This one was kind of special to me, the first plot I had. I just never took the time to write it. Thanks, faithful reader, and take care. Happy Thanksgiving. God Bless,

-----Jackie-Boy,

-----------------------John M. Jr.


	2. Chapter 2

Due to Demand (Not popular demand, I'm not popular) this story is continued

Due to Demand (Not popular demand, I'm not popular) this story is continued.

Disclaimer: I have a cool leather Jacket, but I don't own Rugrats. If I did own it, I'd sell half of it and buy the Ghostbusters' Ecto-1 from Universal Studios. YEAH!

A.N. Computer Died. Got a new one. Go Mac.

(This started before Christmas, but check this shit out; life imitating art or something, do you know what my sister got for Christmas? Engaged! Fuckin-A-Right-Bubba. She got a ring and everything. Pretty cool, huh. Been fixing the car, working out (I swear to God, jogging is going to kill me faster then the cheeseburgers ever would), and going to school, so things are getting slow. I will still do my best.) Somehow this one got a sad ending, which I hate, but I'm still quite proud of it. Enjoy.

His Daughter's Hand 2: Boy's Night out.

6:00 on a Saturday night.

Drew was home alone. Bummer.

Drew wanted to go out, but everybody was busy. Chazz, Stu, and Howard were all busy. He was getting cabin fever. Warren Zevon was belting out "Carmelita" on the record player upstairs. Drew loved his Vinyl. Charlotte was out with "the Girls," as well as Angelica; and Drew was all by his onesies, itching to leave. He was about to give up when there came a knock on the door.

"Enter." He bellowed. He was a little surprised when Chuckie Finster, his future son-in-law, came scurrying through the door. It had been about eight days since His and Drew's talk, and five days since Chuckie purposed:

They were sitting in the Java Lava when Chuckie and Angelica came walking in. Everybody was there. Everyone. Chuckie was muttering and sweating and nervous. He had asked Charlotte and Drew to get everyone at Java Lava, but to not tell anybody why. Drew wondered if Chazz and Kira even knew. But everyone was there, all expecting-like, just the same.

"Okay Mom, Dad, what's this about." Angelica was visibly irritable. She was busy at work; working on a huge merger, and it was starting to take its toll. Drew motioned to Chuckie, who rose slowly. He looked about, the Carmichael, DeVille, and Pickles families were all in attendance.

"Uh, Everybody. Thank you all for, uh, showing up." It was quiet, and it was a nervous quiet. Phil was slurping coffee, and Chazz was staring nervously.

"I, uh, decided this would probably be the best way to do this, so I, uh, don't flee, or something." He turned back to Drew, who motioned for him to continue.

"Uh, as many as you know, my firm just got a huge deal with an assisted living firm in Canada, and things seem to be going well for me. But they aren't great." A light murmur went through the crowd, and Angelica was visibly nervous. What's wrong with Finster? Was he moving? He'd better not if he knows what's good for him.

"I'm, I'm kind of scared; what else is new." He was trying to ease the crowd. It was unsuccessful. He pressed on. "I am also sad."

"I'm saddened at the thought of spending any more time alone." He turned to Angelica, "and scared at the prospect of spending it with anyone else but you." He gracefully got down on one knee, and suddenly began franticly started patting his pockets. Drew, realizing their mistake, whistled to Chuckie, and tossed a small black velvet box at him. By the grace of God, Chuckie caught it.

Every woman in the Java Lava began getting all watery in the eyes, immediately. Chazz felt the back of his throat go dry. Kira was already crying buckets. Tommy and Dil stared at each other for a moment, then back to the scene unfolding in front of them. Phil had an expression on his face like a dog that had just been shown a card trick. Stu and Didi were holding each other, smiling. Angelica was on the verge of tears. She barely got out a weak "Oh God" when Chuckie began again.

"Angelica Pickles, from the time of my birth, you have constantly tortured me, yelled at me, and bossed me around. And I live in mortal fear of that ever ending. The moments apart from you _are_ the most torturous. I have always, and will always, love you. You give me strength, you complete me, and you make me a better person. I'm just, I'm constantly amazed at how much I love you."

The tears Angelica was fighting so hard to keep at bay were starting to win.

"Angelica Pickles, will you marry me?"

Let us dance around the room real quick.

Chazz and Kira were simultaneously thinking the same basic thing. Their child, their "Little man" was growing up, and, Jeepers, he was getting married. Chazz broke, and began weeping openly with his wife.

Kimi was stunned. Her older brother was getting married. To Angelica. Angelica was going to marry her brother. Angelica was going to be her sister-in-law. Her Brother was going to marry Angelica. He had divided by zero, it did not compute. A part of her wanted to gag. Another part of her was angry that Angelica was stealing her naïve and somewhat foolish brother. Then she looked at her brother, and she saw Angelica's tears. And she became nauseatingly happy, and, I mean physically ill at the realization of how happy she was. Angelica's tears were real. Angelica _had _grown over the years. And, most of those years had been spent with Chuckie. And now they were getting married. Kimi loved weddings. Look how happy they look. She too, started to tear up. Pure fucking wrath to total joy and delight in eight seconds.

Tommy was spinning. Angelica and Chuckie, together, for permanent; Huh?. What the hell was going on? They were going to get married. He felt Lil squeeze his hand. He looked over at her and she was all weepy-teary. She was happy. He looked over to his "best mate" Chuckie, who was visibly shaking. He looked at his cousin, who he still referred to as evil. Last week, in fact, he referred to her as being the person solely responsible for training those monkeys in the "Wizard of Oz." And you don't fuck with that kind of evil.

And looking at her now, she was smiling, and crying. Maybe this could work. Chuckie was rather intelligent; he could make his own decisions.

Lil was overjoyed. She loved weddings, and she had always thought, no, wait, scratch that; she always _knew_ they were the perfect couple. And now they were getting married. She was so happy. Hurry up and say yes already Angelica.

Angelica's mind, however, was surprisingly calm. Everything was phantasmagoric, dreamy, all illusion-like. Little pink clouds and princess castles floated about her vision. She was still not 100 sure this was reality. Chuckie was at her side, in the classic kneeling pose, his eyes all shimmer-like. So was his head. That's because her eyes were all wet. She too had become all weepy-teary and on the verge of crying.

Angelica laid her head back, and sighed. "Oh; I suppose."

"Really?" Chuckie cried, overjoyed.

She broke down in tears and wrapped her arms around Chuckie. People cheered. They all began to flock the happy couple, crying and laughing and congratulating and patting them on the back And Chuckie and Angelica sat there on the floor holding each other and, and, and; oh fuck. What comes next? Drew really couldn't remember. He was never any good at relating stories.

"Make her get a Paternity test." Dil had yelled.

Flash back to the forward now here from the flashback of the past; Chuckie was standing in Drew's hall, looking around all timid-like, which was quite usual for him. Drew walked into the front hall to greet him; and saw, in his hand, a book, or big catalogue.

"What's up stud?" Drew asked. Stud was Drew's new nickname he had invented for Chuckie, and Chuckie hated it. Deeply.

"Please don't call me that Mr. Pickles." Chuckie asked.

"Well stop calling me 'Mr. Pickles;' besides, your stealing my daughter, I gotta bust your balls a little here and there, so leave an old man to his fun." Chuckie shrugged, and Drew continued.

"So, what brings you here on a Saturday night? No wild plans?"

"I, uh, actually came to return this book to Angelica," He handed Drew the catalogue, which was a wedding idea-type guide. Drew glanced down at it. He looked at Chuckie.

"You poor bastard," Drew shook his head in shame. "You can't let her do this to you." Chuckie looked confused, so Drew continued. "She's excited right now, she's a woman, and women love planning weddings. Hell; they love weddings. But guys, I mean, can you honestly tell me you give a good rat's ass what style place settings you have?" Chuckie began to speak, but Drew continued.

"What you _need_, is man time. C'mon, this will be good for you." Drew grabbed his coat, and before he could protest, Chuckie found himself in Drew's BMW, heading out to God knows where.

"Uh, where are we going?" Chuckie asked after a few minutes, deciding knowing could not be any worse than not knowing.

"_We_, Chuckie," Chuckie noticed the way Drew emphasized the word 'we,' "we are going to _the Grove_;we'll get some drinks, we'll have a few laughs, it'll be fun."

Chuckie never liked bars. Angelica had taken him to a few every now and then. The Grove, however, was quite unlike any bar Chuckie had been to before. All the places he had been were crowded, and usually had very loud music, requiring everyone to speak even louder. Televisions with sports playing made conversation more difficult.

This place was nice. The bar itself had a mild tropic feel; not vomit-obnoxious like a great neon tiki-bar, but it had a very nice feel, Hemmingway-like. All wood and pictures of Ships and Marlins and Calm beaches. Pale Greens and Tans were the colors of choice. It was quiet, except for a tall lady, belting out smooth jazz notes, accompanied by a fat, graying bassist and a large framed man at a tiny keyboard. The blue spotlight made distinguishing anything else moot, they were all shades of blue. The volume was decent, yet still low enough to converse. A lady carrying a cigarette tray smiled at them. Drew led them to a table in the center of the room. They sat in the rooms near middle, but a bit closer to the bar. They sat in silence for a while. Drew stared intently at the bassist.

"Holy Hell…" Drew whispered.

"You okay?" Chuckie asked.

Drew motioned to the bassist. "We were friend in High School. Long ago; long time ago." Drew faded off. "What would you like to drink?"

"What are you having?" Chuckie asked, still new to the drinking game

"Orange Blossom, I think." Drew replied, "Gin and orange juice." Drew seemed a little down. Chuckie began to wonder if Drew was depressed. Drew was getting old, his friends were all old, and his daughter was getting married. Chuckie did not like seeing Drew sad, so he decided to keep him occupied with pleasant conversation.

"I think I'll have some nachos." Chuckie said. He didn't intend for 'nachos' to be some great thing, but then, all of a sudden like, a dramatic change came over Drew.

"This place has great nachos. Well, had. The first time I came here, back when Charlotte and I were dating, we ate five orders of nachos and drank 'Singapore Slings' all night," Drew began to laugh, "Well, most of the night…"

Drew was smiling as the waitress approached. She was a slender young blond with frighteningly perfect teeth and glassy lobotomy eyes. She introduced herself as Wendy and asked if she could get them anything.

"Well," Drew began, "If we could start with a _Nacho Grande _platter, and a Singapore Sling for me; and go ahead a be a doll and fix one up for my future Son-in-Law over here." Drew put his arm around Chuckie and patted his shoulder, grinning and looking like some Deranged attorney. Wendy though she heard his teeth grind at the word 'Son-in-Law.'

So Wendy flashed her PR smile and scurried off to fill their drink order. Chuckie, still not quite sure what just happened, felt he should raise a practical question at this point.

"Uh, Mr. Pic- Drew, uh, what is a Singapore Sling?" Drew, still seeming lost in thought, came back to the table pretty quick.

"A Singapore Sling? A Singapore Sling is full of Gin and Cherry Brandy and other fun things to make you feel good. After three, you will think you're whispering even when your not, and after five, you will be madly in love with anything that moves. You will be so warm and happy, words can not express it." Wendy scurried over to inform them that the drinks would take a few minutes; the bartender was not sure exactly how to make one.

"Jesus Creeping Shit!" a few people glanced over, but dammit, Drew had a point to make.

"That's the whole problem these days. All these kid punk bartenders can make eighty nine different "shooters," that you guys seem to like so much, so in learning all this tool, poser bullshit they forgot to learn the basics, the staples of a fine beverage catalogue."

Wendy said nothing, scurried off to the bar, and did not return without the Singapore Slings, which Drew deemed acceptable.

The evening pressed on, and halfway through his third Sling, Chuckie had, indeed, become euphoric; all was groovy. The nachos were devoured instantly, and Chuckie thought the plate, with it's blues and whites, was, beautiful man.

"Chuckie, are you my friend?"

"Huh?"

"My friend. I don't have many friends. And I live with two women, two domineering women. I love them, but I have no guy friends really." He paused. "And with you becoming family, my Son-in-law, I just… Wanna go to a baseball game Wednesday? We're playing the Brewers."

Chuckie thought. He never really cared that much for baseball but, but yeah; Drew was his friend; and soon, family.

"Sure Mr. Pickles, that-" His sentence was interrupted by the ringing of Drew's cellular phone. Drew groaned and answered it.

"Hey H-Honey, how are you? … I'm at The Grove, hey, do you know who plays bass h- … Chuckie … No, no, I'll totally be cool to drive, last one I swear. … Honey, I'll call you back when you don't sound so mean." Click. Drew motioned to Wendy for another round. He looked at Chuckie. "Charlotte says hi." Drew slurped at the remains of his drink when he heard a noise. Chuckie's phone (Blackberry, excuse me to flying Jesus) had begun to ring. Chuckie pulled it out to glance at the caller, but Drew's lighting hands beat him to it.

"Master Finster's Cell, Drew speaking."

…

"No, honey, did you misplace him?"

…

"He was returning his, your, uh, big bride book of wedding shit."

…

"Honey, we're drinking in a tunnel, so you're breaking up. Bye dear." Click.

"Your bride says hi."

Chuckie was about to protest when the music stopped. The attractive lady singing blues leaned into the microphone.

"We're gonna take a short break, we'll be back though."

The bass player propped up his bass, picked up his drink, a nondescript Dixie cup, and began to go towards the bar, and by this I mean _stagger_. He stopped.

"Drew?" He asked, half slurring the words and with a puzzled look on his face.

"Hey Dove, how's it going."

In a moment, this large, gray, bear-looking man had Drew in a hug so tight Chuckie was sure Drew's Ribs were broken. "Dove," as Chuckie was sure he was called, was crying. Or maybe not. His face was deep red. When he started speaking again, Chuckie was momentarily nauseated by the booze smell, and amazed at just how uncommonly drunk this man must be. Dove continued to talk to Drew while he seated himself at their table; moments later Wendy brought him a large pitcher. Dove poured orange venom into his cup and took a gulp.

"Screwdriver?" He offered. Then Froze. His eyes locked with Chuckie's, and for a moment Chuckie thought this man might kill him.

"What's your name son?" He asked with an authoritative pound. His bass voice scaring Chuckie half-mad.

"Uh, my name is," words were failing him, talk fast Finster, say something. "My name is Chuckie Finst-"

Dove began to laugh, a large deep laugh and for a moment Chuckie thought this man must be Santa with a buzz-cut.

"I knew it, I knew you had do be Chazz's boy!" As Dove laughed, Chuckie noticed his red face began to actually turn purple. "If you ain't Chazz Finster dipped in ink!" Dove slapped Chuckie on the shoulder, hard.

"I, God, I, I haven't seen you since the Funera-" Dove sobered up momentarily and took two large gulps from his Dixie Cup. He sat their for a moment of silence, then continued, "So, How's your Dad, he ever; uh, Re-Marry?" Dove's once happy, warm, beady little eyes were instantly replaced by sad, doughy, mournful ones.

"Uh, yes sir."

"Good, good. Chazz, he's, well. He doesn't do too well alone." Dove faded off for a moment.

"So what brings you two to this fine establishment?" Dove asked, changing the subject as fast as humanly possible. Chuckie noticed the extra 'sh' Dove added to a few of his words. "Putting the band back together?"

"Hardly," Drew began. In this pause Dove refilled his Dixie Cup once more. "This young man sitting before you has, for whatever foolish reason unbeknownst to us, has just become engaged to my daughter." Drew Said Proudly. "Ain't that right Stud-Muffin?" To which Chuckie pulled up a photo of himself and Angelica on his Blackberry.

"Well congratulations," Dove said, the tell-tale 'sh,' at the end of his sentence. "Marriage is something everyone should experience once." He stopped again, and became mournful.

Drew quickly changed the subject, and continued to talk to Dove, reminiscing on old times and friends and work and what have you; and then Dove had to go back to work.

The band quickly re-assembled on stage, and came straight into some upbeat jazz. Drew smiled to himself. Wendy came over to take drink orders, and Drew asked for a Club soda and lime.

But he got Chuckie another Sling.

Chuckie and Drew had covered a complex array of conversation from "Who was a better Darren in _I dream of Genie_" to "Fender Vs. Gibson" and the always popular "Free bird Vs. Stairway to Heaven."

Somewhere along the way the conversation got to Angelica. And Marriage.

"Drew, Is marriage nice?"

Drew was taken back. No one had really ever asked him that. He hoped he had gotten Chuckie intoxicated enough that this would not stick out too much in his mind.

"Do you love her?"

"Yes. I've never been more certain of anything my whole life."

This conversation just got interesting. "What's it like?"

Chuckie thought. "Simply put. Bliss when we're together, and agony when we're apart."

Drew liked that. Kind of simple thought, maybe he can elaborate on that someday. Being satisfied with Chuckie's answer, he continued,

"Marriage, oh fuck yeah, it's great. Do you know how cool it is to wake up every morning to someone you love. It's fuckin' groovy. The first few years are hard though."

A look of fear came over Chuckie.

"Oh no, nothing serious. Just, all those little quirks about her you like; you will start to hate them."

Chuckie started to shake his head.

"Don't you shake your head at me young man, you will. You will start to hate her, but it will pass."

Drew's phone started to ring. He glanced down at his phone.

"It passes, for the most part." He grinned, and answered.

"Hello dear."

…

"Yeah, be home soon."

…

"Love you too. Bye." Click.

"See, Still love her. I just said so."

Drew stood up walked over to the bar, settled his tab and got ready to go. As he walked to the door, he took out a pen and grabbed a cocktail napkin. Chuckie watched as Drew wrote down his cell number and slid it on stage to Dove, who nodded/grinned.

They got into Drew's very swank BMW X5 and headed home. Pulling out of the parking lot, Drew plugged his mp3 player in and turned the volume up. "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" came sounding through.

"Chuck, Son; you're, well; you're very stressed. High Strung. So let's hear some singing."

"What?"

"Sing. C'mon, you must know Meatloaf."

"I'll embarrass myself."

"Dude, we're the only two people in the car."

"I'm not singing."

--

Charlotte noticed when the Drew pulled in the driveway, they didn't get out. Angelica, who had been waiting up with her mother, also noticed this. What were they doing out there? Coming up with an alibi? Making excuses. After a few minutes their fuming quickly turned to concern. They decided to go outside. They grabbed their matching slippers (They always seemed to me the type to buy matching slippers) and headed outside.

As they approached the car (SUV excuse me) they were taken aback about how loud there respective men were being. Charlotte grasped the door handle and opened it and, they were singing.

"I see a little silhouetto of a man,

Scaramouche, scaramouche will you do the fandango

Thunderbolt and lightning-very very frightening me

Galileo, Galileo,

Galileo, Galileo

Galileo figaro- magnifico"

"Drew-"

"I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me

**He's just a poor boy from a poor family!**

Spare him his life from this monstrosity

Easy come easy go, will you let me go"

"Drew!"

"**Bismillah!** What! Oh hey Charlotte." He turned down the music, and looked to the young man next to him, and was alarmed to see his "delicate flower" daughter standing at the doorway, arms crossed, looking troublingly like her mother. Chuckie banged his head unconcerned, being far more interested in Brian May's guitar solo. "Chuckie," Drew spoke up, "we have arrived."

Chuckie, who had just spent an evening being inducted into the Too Much Fun Club, did not quite notice his future bride's distress. He smiled at her, and against the laws of probability, and against all Vegas odds, Chuckie did something no one expected.

He began to sing.

"_Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night, I can see paradise by the dashboard light…_" He made as to hug Angelica, but slid out of the car and landed on the grass with a thud.

"Daddy what did you do to him?"

"Nothing sweetie. Just, hanging out with my friend."

Drew and Angelica managed to get Chuckie on the sofa and, before he was gone, he grabbed angelica, Pulled her down towards him for a brazenly deep, passionate kiss; the kind of move he would be far too timid to attempt in waking life. As she floated back up, he whisper/hollered out "Goodnight Gorgeous." Angelica blushed immensely and floated upstairs to her room, which had not changed in the very slightest since her departure.

Drew was now alone with his wife.

After a good talking to, accompanied by a stern finger wagging, most was forgiven. They fooled around for a little bit and went to sleep.

**Epilogue:** A Drama (For those who are curious about Dove)

It was Monday afternoon, and all had gathered at Java Lava for chitchat and idle gossip. Drew had been entertaining everybody with details of Chuckie's rendition of "Purple Haze" the other night. ("Purple haze, all in mah brain; somthin' something, and rhymes with brains!") Chuckie decided to change topic immediately.

"Oh, and I met that friend of yours, the gray guy." Chuckie reminded.

Drew looked solemn once more.

"Yeah, gang, do you guys know who is playing bass at _The Grove_? Dove."

The crowd grew silent. Most of the adults started sipping at their coffee.

"Really?" Didi asked, a look of awe taking over her face. "How, How is he?"

"Oh, I would say he's surviving, barely."

"Does, is he still…" Chazz asked, making a drinking motion with his hands.

"Oh yeah." Drew responded.

"Uh, sorry, but, who is 'Dove,' a friend of yours?" Kira asked nervously.

"Dove," Betty started, "was a high school friend of ours. He, he was in a band with Chazz, Drew, and…" She stopped, looking at Chazz.

"And," Chazz picked up, "my first wife. '_THE ORKeDS_,' what we called ourselves. Backwards 'R.' Nothing serious, just fun times. A play on words, she liked flowers and Drew and I were pretty big D&Ders. Orks, a monster from Dungeons and…" he faded off.

"Dove wasn't that smart. Long haired football player in the '70's." Drew continued. "His girlfriend Debbie, however; smartest girl in class. They got married right after high school. He got a job in his father's garage, and she started law school. Had a little boy. The American Dream in full force." Drew paused.

"But, they drank. Heavy. Often. On the night before her Graduation, they went off partying. A game of 'rock paper scissors' determined he should drive home. Horrible accident. She didn't make it."

Silenced.

"After a failed suicide attempt, he devoted his life to raising his son. Kid's in the city now, working at a real fancy law firm." Drew changed gears. "We should invite him out here for coffee sometime. Be good for him."

Drew looked around, all the "Kids" looked miserable, and all the "Adults" looked worse. Do something.

"So anyway, a duck, a psychiatrist, a camel, and Rene Descartes' walk into a bar…"

After Drew's uncommonly long joke, the mood picked up. They decided what they were all up to, and Dil suggested they should all go bowling Friday. Stu agreed and Drew himself thought it was an acceptable plan, his mind elsewhere. Not on dove, but Angelica. And his wife. What he would ever do without them. As they all left to face the remaining workweek, he watched Chuckie and Angelica as they left. The sparkle Chuckie seemed to ignite in her eyes, the self-confidence she gave him. In the entire history of human existence, no two people were better for each other.

Flashback

The funereal of The First Mrs. Finster

Drew watched as Chazz wept and sobbed and cried as the ashes of his bride were spread over the cliffs towards the sea. It was all so surreal, her death and all. Drew stood behind Chazz as everyone threw a rose off the edge. They then came up to Chazz, one by one, and offered sympathies.

Drew was about start his car, he was Driving Chazz and the now sleeping infant Chuckie home, Charlotte and Angelica riding with the Stu and Pregnant Didi, when Dove appeared.

He gave Chazz a big bear hug, and they both started crying. After a moment Chazz spoke up.

"So, does it ever stop hurting?"

"No. Not really. It just gets a little easier to cope, after a while."

He turned to leave, then turned to Chazz again.

"If, if you knew this would happen, would you change anything?"

Chazz thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so. 'Loved and lost' vs. 'loved at all,' or some shit."

"Good." Dove turned to leave, and Chazz called to him.

"Would You?"

Dove thought. "Yeah, I would change something. I would've thrown Paper. Not Rock. And you could have this conversation with Deb." And with that, Dove left.

Looking back on that evening on the rocky cliffs, Drew finally really knew what love meant.

Not "never saying sorry," or "loved and lost," or any of those mindless clichés, but bliss together, and agony apart. It really was that simple.

He watched the kids off, and knew, in his very bones, all was good.

--Well that was Fuckin' Depressing.

Anywho, hope you liked it. Exploring every possible definition of the word "Drama."

I think this story may have two more chapters in it. At least. And Blah blah blah I can't finish anything.

Take care, my faithful readers, and God Bless.

Sorry it was so depressing, but I'm still proud of it.

John Mills Jr.

-Stuntman Jack.


End file.
